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God, what were you thinking?
You can’t do this; you simply can’t do this!
And no, not in a ‘I don’t think I can’ way but in a ‘this goes against the laws of existence’ way.
Yes, you play violin well and also yes you enjoy it, especially when you get to duet with…him.
That didn’t mean you could perform in front a whole swarm of people!
OK, granted this was a local music event so the audience didn’t nearly have as many people as say a place like the Ol’ Opry would. A heart attack would have been imminent otherwise.
Still, the mere thought of going out there, of making even the slightest mistake in front of so many strangers ready to judge your every action. You don’t know whether to cry or vomit. Probably both.
What strangles you the most, though, is the fear of humiliating yourself in front of…
“Y/N, are you alright?”
His soft voice makes you jump, but that same gentle touch on the shoulder remedies your fright immediately. As it always does.
You manage a harsh intake of air before turning to the tall Asian man dressed in black country clothing behind you, his brown eyes peering into yours with nothing but concern. Your fight or flight settles down under his gaze, but you can still feel the adrenaline pumping, ready for your decision.
At last, you shake your head and reach up to grip his larger hand like a lifeline. “Yiang, I changed my mind! I can’t do this! I just can’t do this!”
His face contorts in shock at your outburst, though it then dives into even heavier concern than before instead of annoyance like you expected (like you think you deserve). “Anh yêu*, why don’t we take a seat together?”
He angles his face downward so his eyes peer over the glasses, shimmering like stars in the dim backstage lighting. “Please?“
Ugh, you can never say no to those eyes, not when they’re at that angle. With no more willpower to argue, you take a seat on a nearby bench alongside him, shoulders touching.
You also haven’t stopped holding hands. Neither of you comment.
There are a few moments of heavy silence as you muster the courage to gather your words. Hyunh remains silent though you can still feel his gaze and all the patience he always keeps reserved for you.
You sigh at last. “Sorry for acting like that. I…I started thinking about how the folks watching us might react. Then I started thinking about my parents and how they would always put me down for wanting to be an artist…how my father would lambast me for picking such a…’girly’ pursuit.”
Eye-rolling has been something you’ve refrained from doing ever since reaching your 30s – it felt so juvenile – but God if you didn’t feel the urge to give in. Maybe you’re still exaggerating, but sadly there have been jerks out there, men and women alike, who had taken one look at you and your instrument and made a field day out of humiliating you.
Any small wonder why you kept your sexuality a secret as well? If folks were going to be jerks about how you play music, no way in hell would you even hint about that.
That’s why coming across the boardinghouse had been such a boon.
When you first stepped on that doorstep, it’d already been a few years since your 18th birthday, when you abandoned ship and finally ditched that cold museum of a house. You’d been struggling on odd jobs just to stay up on rent, the prospect of college a pipe dream due to your financial situation.
You first heard of the Sunset Arms somewhere, from someone. Memories fail but not on the first time you met everyone.
Arnold and his grandparents.
Suzie (and maybe Oskar on a good day).
Ernie.
…Yiang.
All of them had welcomed you with open arms so readily from the start, sometimes you had to look out the window to confirm you all still lived in a city and not some fairy tale land.
Well, no worries on that count. This bunch could be as fraught as they were openminded. Not a single dinner could pass in that boardinghouse without somebody (usually Ernie or Oskar) raising chaos. Heck, oftentimes Yiang would join in on the bedlam, though mostly in the form of complaints.
Then there was you, the quiet one of the bunch. You weren’t the type to speak up or voice a complaint, even for something legitimate, mostly because you’ve always had this thing about conflict. Ironic then you would wind paying rent amongst such rowdy characters. If anything, your disposition made you something of a wallflower. Nowhere as elusive as the legendary Mr. Smith, of course, but enough to build a reputation as the one boarder besides Suzie with more than a lick of common sense.
And that often resulted in Phil enlisting you for…’damage control’: basically, helping him and Arnold with handling the boarders whenever they got out of hand.
It went about as well as one with a brain would expect.
Simply getting near Ernie and his hot temper made you choke up with anxiety. You’ve seen what that little nut can do with a hammer.
You absolutely refuse to go as much as a foot near Oskar without making sure all valuables are glued to your body first. That little weasel has serious pickpocketing skills.
Even Suzie, as much as you two had grown to appreciate each other’s company, often occupied her husband’s larcenous orbit, usually in a state of either exhaustion or utter rage (sometimes both).
Then there was Yiang.
Out of all your fellow boarders, he’d always been the easiest for you to approach; you never minded having to tell him to reign it in whenever things got hectic because he always listened to you, no matter how much the others goaded him. He also never tried to monopolize conversations with you like Ernie did or seek you out solely for favors like Oskar.
Actually, if he ever did seek you for something, he’d always offer something equal in exchange: you fixed something in his kitchen, he’d fix something in your bathroom; you lent a book on drawing tips, he’d lend you a book on recipes; you taught him Spanish and German, he would teach you Vietnamese and French in return.
Back and forth, offer and accept. Equal measure.
You came to expect – and in time appreciate – that tide-like rhythm.
Just like how you came to expect his presence beside you at dinner. From the outside looking in, the two of you didn’t seem all that different from usual: he would engage in colorful banter with everyone else, you in softer and terser responses when addressed.
But a closer look would tell a different story: the brief touches, the discreet glances, the subtle smiles.
To say nothing of the whispers you two would share when everyone else had their attention on the TV or the faint chuckles at other people’s antics during your walks from work.
Perhaps all those little things were why you and he grew so close over the past few years.
“Y/N? Y/N, are you alright?”
You jolt out of memory lane with a small shriek, startling Yiang as well as a few nearby stagehands. Crap, you hadn’t meant to drift off like that!
That same soft warm hand touches your back before you can sputter an apology.
“In. Out,” he gently chants, before demonstrating with easy, even breaths.
It takes a few moments to start, but you manage. The circles he rubs in between your scapula help. In time, your nerves recover and your body slumps, already feeling the need to take a long nap. Part of you wonders if you can even do this performance anymore.
Look at yourself, already making a mess of things. How did Yiang ever put up with you?
Your breath hitches when that same hand switches to your hip and draws you into Yiang’s tall sinewy frame, your hair brushing the underside of his chin. You can heart his heart beating just below your chin, gentle and even.
“I can go in alone, if you would rather.”
What? You fix a look of pure shock up at him, not sure you heard right.
He shrugs and returns an assuring smile. “Really, I do not mind. We can perform together another time. I do not wish to force you to do something you do not enjoy.”
“I NEVER SAID I DON’T ENJOY THIS!” Your slap both hands over your mouth, not believing you just shouted that. To his credit, Yiang takes the outburst in stride, eyes twinkling as he arches an amused brow. Jesus, why was this man so handsome?
You clear your throat. “S-Sorry. I…I enjoy playing with you. You’re always so patient and supportive, no matter how much I mess up.” A brief yet genuine smile graces you before it slips away. You avert your eyes in shame. “I just don’t know if I’ll be able to handle the people out there laughing at me.”
Like how your father would laugh. You can’t go through that sort of humiliation. Not again.
Yiang pulls you closer. By instinct, you wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle his neck, smiling despite yourself. Here in his grasp all these fears and worries seemed so small and insignificant. For a silly moment, you half-consider performing while in his lap. Wouldn’t that be a sight?
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs into your hair. “Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you. Whichever way everyone else reacts, it will not matter to me…so long as it makes you happy.”
Happy.
How nice, the thought of being happy without caring what others may think.
That had always been your downfall, wasn’t it? Obsessing over others’ opinions, as though even the slightest deviation would reveal you for the fake hidden inside.
Yet here was this tall, kindhearted man from a home far, far away who’d weathered more than the world had any right to throw at him, who dared still find reasons to smile, willing to offer you the world just to see your smile again.
You turn your head to gaze at the distant curtains, from where you could here the excited murmurs of the crowd as the announcer riled them up.
Yiang promised whatever you want, right?
Well…what did you want?
The violin and bow catch your eye, still awaiting you on the floor.
Part of you can’t help but feel guilty, leaving such beautiful things to idle.
Another part wonders if Yiang ever thinks the same of you. Though you blush, a tiny bit of courage starts to blossom in you at the thought.
And with that courage, you bring yourself to look the man you adore in the eyes again.
The man who has no intentions of leaving you in the dust.
Would it hurt to emulate that same mercy towards yourself?
You close your eyes and sigh. “Hey Yiang…”
“Yes?”
Your eyes reopen and a soft smile comes over you. “Whatever happens, stick by me, OK?”
He cups your chin in his hand, smiles, and plants a chaste kiss on your forehead.
“You have my word, mèo con*.”